


After All, He Was Spiderman

by SilverLightRaita



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hugs, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, One-Shot, Peter is stuck and he’s hurt, Peter needs lots of hugs, Self-Doubt, dad tony stark, spiderman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-30 13:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13952439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLightRaita/pseuds/SilverLightRaita
Summary: He couldn’t breath. Oh God, he couldn’t breath. His throat was raw. Did he scream? It sure felt like it.—————What was going through Peter’s mind while he was trapped in the debris of the warehouse?One-Shot  - Now with bonus chapter





	1. After All, He Was Spiderman

**Author's Note:**

> First story, wow. 
> 
> Second, I love Spiderman and Marvel. I only recently got to see the Homecoming movie though. While I was watching, I got some different story ideas that drifted by but this one really clicked. 
> 
> I realized that a lot had to be going through Peter’s mind during this scene in homecoming. Therefore, this snippet came to mind.

He couldn’t breath. Oh God, he couldn’t breath. His throat was raw. Did he scream? It sure felt like it. The taste of something metallic and salty coated his tongue.  
  
Clawing at his face, Peter tore the mask away. Dusty air filled his mouth and nose but it was air. He hacked and choked on the oxygen entering his system, spitting out whatever was in his mouth. Red splashed into a puddle in front of him. He grimaced.  
  
Metal beams and concrete groaned above him. He felt the pressure of tons upon tons of building crushing him down. He scrabbled frantically now. He had to get out! The weight was increasing, pressuring his spine. By the thumping in his head, it could only be a concussion, the second one this week. _‘That’s one too many concussions...’_ he decided.  
  
Bits of chipped cement pelted his head, dusting his hair with grit. Readying himself, he tried to push up. He tried but more dust and crumbled debris tumbled down, coating his shoulders and falling past his face. The building had him pinned, almost seeming to gain more weight as the seconds passed him by.  
  
And as the pressure built, he screamed. He cried, he wailed, he hollered, and he yelled. Peter had to stop his “help me”s and his “somebody”s eventually. His calls were either falling on deaf ears or he was completely and utterly alone. And now he stopped. There was no one out there to hear him so why waste his breath?  
  
The cold started biting through his original suit. He suddenly realized how stupid this suit was. It was thin and pitiful. The material was cheap, and the stitching was average at best. In fact, he had to fix his horrible seams multiple times after barely three nights at a time. If not for his healing factor, his hands would be scarred beyond belief.  
  
Peter clenched his hands into to fists now. How simple it had been to only worry about the he,king of his suit and a stupid bike thief a few blocks from school? Instead of staying near the ground like Mr. Stark had ordered, he was basically under it. Oh God... Mr. Stark...  
  
Mr. Stark was going to kill him _. ‘Well... If I don’t die here first,’_ he reminded himself. He couldn’t do anything right it seemed. He closed his eyes, panting and trying to relax himself. His panic wouldn’t help him. He had to think.  
  
Liz’s dad was going to attack one of Mr. Stark’s planes. The plane had extremely dangerous equipment on board. If her dad got hold of it, there was no telling how many criminals would get their hands on deadly weapons. People would get hurt or even die if he didn’t stop them. Mr. Stark wasn’t here, and the Avengers weren’t here. It was just... Peter Parker.  
  
Peter Parker, the nerd. Peter Parker, the wimp. Peter Parker, the kid who couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t save his parents, he couldn’t save Uncle Ben, and he couldn’t make his mentor proud. He panted as his throat constricted and saltiness stung the corners of his eyes.  
  
Peter shifted his head and opened his eyes. Gazing down, he saw his mask, half submerged in a puddle of muddy water. The dim light let him make out his reflection, half obscured by the mask. And the it clicked. He wasn’t just Peter anymore. He was that kid who hid under his covers crying after his parents died. He was the depressed teen dwelling on his uncle’s death. He wasn’t even a simple vigilante anymore.  
  
Mr. Stark’s words rang in his head. “If you’re nothing without your suit, then you shouldn’t have it.” He had been without the fancy suit before. He had proven he was strong. He had shown he could do almost anything.  
  
Peter was Spiderman. However crazy his life was becoming, that was still who he was. He had to do everything he could to help people, especially now. Just as his uncle always had said: “with great power comes great responsibility.” He has powers, and therefore, it was his responsibility to use them to stop Mr. Stark’s tech from falling into the wrong hands.  
  
Steeling himself and clenching his jaw, he began to push up. “Come on, Peter... Come on, Spiderman... Come on, Spiderman!” He continued to say to himself, shoving the weight holding him down upwards. The cinderblock shift and moved, raising up. He screamed and yelled and even cried as he pushed through what he thought his limits were.  
  
Soon the pieces of cement were high enough for him to reposition himself. He crouched, moving the mass from his shoulders to his palms. His muscles burned beneath his skin but he had to keep going. Water was drenching him, making his suit cold and clammy. He was on his feet now, muddy, wet, and panting.  
  
With one last heave, whatever had been over top of him toppled. Clouds of dust filled his vision, and he blinked. Crawling up from the wreckage, he breathing in fresh air in heavy gasps. Steadying himself in a crouching position, he spotted the bird themed villain perched atop a lit billboard nearby.  
  
The Stark tower was in view. The plane with its deadly cargo was just beginning to take flight. As the Vulture spread his robotic wings, Peter knew what he had to do. Regaining his composure, he pushed himself yet again. He shot a stream of webbing at one of the man’s legs as he took off.  
  
He may not be as experienced as Captain America or as intelligent as Iron Man. He may not be as powerful as Thor or the Hulk or as skilled as Hawkeye and Black Widow. But he had a purpose. His purpose was to protect those around him that couldn’t protect themselves.  
  
And as his web touched home, and he started gaining altitude, he knew he wouldn’t regret doing what he was meant to do.  
  
After all, he was Spiderman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s be serious, Pete really needs a hug.
> 
> -Silv.


	2. Bonus: Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter can’t sleep. Nightmares plague his nights, and he doesn’t know what to do. He decides to go to the one person he hopes will understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see that people seem to like the first section so I decided to add a little more in the form as a bonus chapter.

_He was running. Running as fast as his feet could take him. Why was he running though? There wasn't anything there..._  
  
_And then the eyes appeared. Glowing green orbs of light flashing in the darkness. It was almost blinding as the luminous sphere, striking at the black around him. A chilling terror overtook him, and he ran harder._  
  
_And now he was falling. Falling and falling and falling... Yet the eyes didn't move. They were watching, staring at him._  
  
_Then the laughter, cruel and bitter. **"This is what you get, Peter!”** came the cackle, metallic yet resounding. It was the Vulture, and he was going to kill him._  
  
_So Peter kept falling, flailing about in terror. There was nothing to grab, nothing to hold on to or stop his fall. Not until he hit the ground with a crack._  
  
_And then the sky fell. It was crushing him, an invisible force. He could feel the dirt in his hair, the dust in his mouth, and the support beams digging into his body. He couldn't breath, the pressure suffocating him. He was trapped again, and this time, he couldn't get out._  
  
_The laughter was loud, hurting his ears. His head pounded. Peter opened his mouth but no sound came out. The only thing he could do was gape in horror as the world fragmented around him, burying him deeper, deeper, deeper..._  
  
And then he woke.  
  
Sweat was pouring down his face, sticking the hem of his shirt to his collarbone. His body felt clammy and uncomfortably warm. His throat felt dry and scratchy as he breathed in gasps of air, trying to calm his heart thudding in his chest. He hadn't screamed, no... That had stopped happening two weeks ago.  
  
Peter ran a hand through his hair, drawing back a dampened hand. It was getting harder to sleep. They were nightmares, horrible nightmares that were eating him alive. It was only two months since the Vulture incident, and while the injuries outside healed just fine, his mind was still processing all that had happened. Sadly, the process wasn't too kind to him.  
  
This had happened before with the death of his uncle. Memories still made their way into his dreams some night but he had come to terms with Uncle Ben's death. This though... This was new and different. Someone had tried to kill him, snuff out his life like a little bug. He shuddered; how ironic it was that he was a spider.  
  
He blinked now, eyes adjusting to the light filtering in from the street. The blinking red of his alarm clock drew his attention. Zero, two, three, and zero blipped on the screen. 2:00 AM... Today was a school day, Friday to be exact. Maybe patrol tonight would help put his mind at ease.  
  
But that was in hours, after school. The problem was here and now. He couldn't go to Aunt May; she had suffered enough with his problems. She wasn't fond of the fact that her nephew was Spiderman. She had been angry at first but finally had to accept the fact that the boy she was raising was a crime fighter. She still worried, a lot actually.  
  
No, she didn't need to worry about his mental health. But what could he do?  
  
He glanced around his room until his eyes locked on one of his shelves. There sat his collection of Avenger action figures. He, being a middle schooler at the time, had gotten all of them the day they had come out. Even though he was a fugitive now, Peter kept Captain America's figure up, along with a more recent Falcon figure. After what had happened in Berlin, he had thought everything over. There was probably more to the story; he guessed he'd find out eventually.  
  
His eyes were drawn to the Iron Man figure, the classic suit. He let out a breath. _'Maybe... No, he... I mean... I guess I could try...'_ Peter thought, clambering out of his bed. He quietly padded over to where he kept this suit, stripping his sweaty shirt and putting it on. After making it conform to his body, he opened the window and pulled his mask over his head.  
  
**"Good morning, Peter. Why are you up so early?"** chimed Karen.  
  
"A-ah, Karen, it's nothing important really," Peter responded, voice cracking from the dryness.  
  
**_"It doesn't seem like nothing. You are aware that it is three hours, twenty minutes, and sixteen seconds until you are meant to wake up for school?"_**  
  
"I know, I know," the boy answered. "I just... Can you take me to Mr. Stark's house please?"  
  
**_"Of course. Would you like me to call him to tell him when you'll get there?"_**  
  
"No no no no! I'm fine!"  
  
**_"Alright. Setting course to Tony Stark's home."_**  
  
It didn't take long to get to the building. While the Avengers headquarters had moved, Stark kept a place for himself in the city. Peter knew he was currently staying there and just hoped the man wouldn't be too bothered by him coming by without notice. His anxiety was bouncing off the walls as he made his way to Mr. Stark's window.  
  
He knocked gently and waited. There was a grumbling noise, a crash, and a yelp before the man opened the window. "Kid?" Tony yawned, rubbing his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here at... Three in the morning?"  
  
Peter began wringing his hands anxiously. "I'm real sorry, Mr. Stark. It's just that-..."  
  
Tony raised a hand, stopping him. "Stop right there. Come inside. It's stupid cold tonight," the man stated flippantly. "Then we can talk." He moved aside, and the worried teen slipped inside. "Now what's got you all upset that you had to knock at my window at such an unholy hour in the morning?" He sat down in a plush chair next to his bed and flicked on an extravagantly fancy lamp.  
  
The boy jumped to the floor, a dark pine that glinted in the dim lighting of the room. "It's just... I..." He stopped, breath in, and blurted, "I've been having nightmares."  
  
"Nightmares?" scoffed Tony, making Peter flinch. "You woke me up for a few little bad dreams? Why didn't you go to you sexy aunt?"  
  
Peter looked away. "Because I don't want to worry her."  
  
"So you come to me?"  
  
"..."  
  
"Psssh. They can't be that bad. I mean they're just stupid little dreams. What? Is your homework trying to eat you?"  
  
"No..."  
  
"Is the churro lady coming back to demand recompense?"  
  
"What? No!”  
  
"Then spit it out kid."  
  
"I keep dreaming about when I was buried alive!" Peter finally shouted. Tony shut his mouth like a steal trap. "E-except... I don't make it out this time..." His voice cracks, not from the dryness this time. He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes, and he turns his head.  
  
The man before him is quiet for a moment, contemplating. His lets out a deep sigh, muttering "shit" angrily. He looks up at Peter, eyes hard and serious. "Peter, take off the mask."  
  
His only response is a shake of the head. 'No.'  
  
"Peter. Please." The boy looks at him. Tony isn't the kind of person to throw around that word lightly. He never asks like this, but normally demands. He looks the man in the eyes, and he sees something he rarely sees. It's not anger nor is it disappointment.  
  
Peter peels off the mask. His flushed cheeks are now visible along with messy, sweating locks of brown hair and tears running down his face. He tries to blink them away, to make them stop but they don't. He chokes on his next breath and shudders lightly as he exhales.  
  
Tony rises to his feet. The man is barefoot, wearing a simple t-shirt and sweats. His hair was mussed from sleep or, by taking in the bags under the man's eyes, lack thereof. And his eyes, while showing obvious sleepiness a few moments before, now were focused and reflected sadness. Peter had never seen Tony look this ruffled and emotional.  
  
He stood still and stiff as the man stepped forward. Within four strides, Tony was in front of him. And then he hugged him. Peter blinked in surprise. Tony Stark was... hugging him. A warmth blossomed in his aching chest as he shoved his face into the man's shirt and cried.  
  
This hug wasn't like Uncle Ben's hugs. Uncle Ben was a bigger man with large arms that enveloped you. They were massive bear hugs, warm and cozy. They were something Peter had longed for ever since his uncle had passed away. But this hug was different.  
  
It wasn't bad aside from being a bit awkward. Tony's arms were built with lean muscle mass, unlike his uncle's beefier limbs. This man was also shorter than Uncle Ben, resting his chin on Peter’s head rather than basically crushing the teen into his chest. He was also much looser, holding firm but leaving room for Peter to pull back when he was ready.  
  
He decided he liked Tony's hug. They weren't Uncle Ben hugs but they were just as comforting.  
  
The two stood for a moment in silence. Peter's soft sobbing sounds could be heard, muffled by the dampening t-shirt Tony wore. The Stark sighed, gently rubbing the boy's back as his mother did for him as a child. He wasn't good at comforting, normally leaving that job to others. But this was Peter, and Peter came to him, and you could bet your skinny ass he'd comfort the boy to the best of his ability, however awkward it may be.  
  
"I... I was so scared..." Peter finally mumbled. "I couldn't breath, and.... and no one came..."  
  
Tony frowned. "Pete... How long has this been going on?"  
  
The teen was quiet. "Two months... It's getting better I guess... I don't scream anymore..."  
  
The man's chest constricted. He remembered when he was younger, when his parents died. He had been alone and had his own nightmares, trying to save them from their fate. When he had first become Iron Man, he had reoccurring night terrors of almost dying back in the cave in the middle of nowhere. Then there was the time he had died when he sent the missile through the portal to stop the Chitauri invasion that worsened his dreams. He never got enough sleep back then, hiding himself up in his lab creating an unnecessary army of suits rather than resting in his bed.  
  
He realized how much of a jerk he must have sounded when Peter was trying to explain himself. "I'm sorry... I should have realized," he apologized, breathing out slowly. The boy's shuddering sobs were lessening.  
  
"I'm... I'm sorry I mess up so much... Mr. Stark..."  
  
"You don't mess up that much, kiddo. Just a few mistakes... You're learning."  
  
"I'm sorry..."  
  
"It's ok. You don't need to apologize for anything."  
  
Peter finally pulled away, releasing his grip on the wet shirt. His hair was mussed and fluffed to and fro. His face was damp and flushed from the tears. Red rimmed his soft brown eyes, glistening in the lamplight. Shudders no longer wracked his body from sobs, and he looked to breath easier now, no longer choking on his breaths.  
  
"I didn't mean to wake you up at such a early hour, Mr. Stark... I'll leave so you can sleep..."  
  
"Oh hell no. You aren't going to swing all over the place now. Come here," Tony moved over to the bed, sitting on the edge. He patted the bare spot next to him, staring at the boy expectantly.  
  
He shuffled over and sat next to the man, the bed creaking softly under the added weight. "Now," continued the man. "Tell me about what happened. I've had my own nightmares before. Talking to someone helps." He remembered how he finally was confronted by Pepper. She had gotten him to open up and was there to comfort him. _'She would have been very helpful right now'_ he realized as the boy began to speak.  
  
Peter explained his dreams. He explained the darkness, the eyes, the condemning laughter and words, and the crushing building. He told how no one could hear him, save him. He told how he couldn’t save himself and the more he tried, the worse it became. He was useless and hadn't felt worthy to be called a hero.  
  
And Tony was there to comfort. The Vulture was gone; he was behind bars. He had been strong enough to escape the building and saved the city if not the world. He wasn't useless, far from it in fact. He was every bit worthy to be a hero, and anyone who said otherwise would have to go through him. The last part made Peter smile.  
  
To get the boy's mind on something nicer, the man began telling of lab misadventures. It wasn't until Peter slouched against his side did he realize the boy had fallen asleep. Carefully, he helped the boy lay down on the bed and covered him with a blanket. He quietly exited the room to avoid waking the boy.  
  
"FRIDAY, tell me if he starts to wake up," he ordered.  
  
**_"Of course,"_** FRIDAY said melodically.  
  
"Also, send a text to his Aunt. Tell her he came here for some project help or something like that and is sleeping here. Send a message around.... eight?... to his school that he's sick today."  
  
**_"I'll get right to it."_**  
  
Tony went down to his lab. He wouldn't be able to sleep now. He had decided that Peter didn't deserve this, and thus, he would find a way to help in the best way he knew how. Figuring out technology was the best unhealthy coping mechanism he had, and he would use it to help the kid anyway he could. Pulling up plan he had for upgrading the boy's suit, Tony went to work.  
  
Upstairs in the man's bedroom, Peter finally slept. There was no nightmares, no terrors haunting his sleep. He had only himself and a peaceful feeling the enveloping him. He smiled. It was the first pleasant sleep the boy had experienced in months.  
  
_'Thank you, Mr. Stark...'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this. I also hope Tony isn’t too OOC. He seems more like a person who doesn’t do a lot of comforting to others but cares for others even when he doesn’t always show it.

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s be serious, Pete really needs a hug.
> 
> -Silv.


End file.
